


Seasons

by psychobetts



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Abuse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attacks, But I swear, Depression, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Healing, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Independence, Jug is a Conflicted Misguided Mess, Personal Growth, Post-Break Up, Suicidal Thoughts, THIS WILL BE HARD, This Betty is Strong AF, Worth It, and we still love them, self-destructive behaviour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2019-09-30 08:39:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17220596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychobetts/pseuds/psychobetts
Summary: I don't think we should be together anymore.I don't feel the same.I don't see you in my future.You have to let go of me.Betty is left reeling after Jughead ends their relationship.TW: Severe depression, anxiety, references to self-harm and suicidal thoughts.





	1. Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, thank you for clicking on this story. Right now, I would pull a Lemony Snicket and tell you not to read this, but I would actually love it a lot if you DID. 
> 
> This story was a labour of love, nostalgia, and pain. It is based heavily on my own experiences, so I had to venture quite far down memory lane. I wanted to depict it as real as possible, as vivid as I can recall, so that it feels authentic to you as a reader. 
> 
> If you choose to embark on this story, please mind the trigger warning in the summary. While it is not overly graphic, this story does illustrate severe depression and anxiety, self-harm, and suicidal tendencies. So, please be careful, my friends. While I would love for you to enjoy this story, take care of yourselves first. 
> 
> All my love, and thank you. xx

* * *

* * *

 

 

The Cooper kitchen was the most full it had been the entire year. Christmas Eve had fallen quickly upon us, like the snow outside, and the room was bursting at the seams with our family and closest friends.

 

Fred Andrews and my father were talking in the corner, hot cocoa in hand. Mothers were gabbing around the dining room table, which overflowed with snacks. Archie, Veronica, Kevin, Reggie and Cheryl sat around a card table dealing a game of Hearts that was still missing a player. _Me_.

 

But it was difficult to get into the party mood, the Christmas spirit, when all I wanted to do was disappear.

 

Veronica’s dark, soft eyes met mine from across the room and she smiled gently at me, motioning me over. She knew what I was going through. She knew that it took all my strength and willpower--even being a Cooper girl, eager to please and entertain--to get off those stairs and join my friends.

 

I sat down silently next to her and she patted my knee. I picked up the cards they’d laid in front of me and blinked at my hand. A King of Hearts jumped out at me and my stomach sank.

 

“We’re passing two to the right, Betts,” Archie spoke up and I nodded mutely.

 

I slid the offending card out of my hand and pressed it face down on the table. I usually played this game aggressively, keeping the high heart cards so I could play them on other people’s tricks, giving them points. Tonight though, I didn’t want to hold onto the King. I didn’t even want to look at it. The King of Hearts may as well be the King of Snakes.

 

The round passed quickly in front of my unseeing eyes. I’d picked up four hearts by accident, earning some points I didn’t want. I didn’t care. I was just there, only barely participating because I had to. I had to put on a brave face even though my insides felt hollow, even if emotions constantly threatened to boil over.

 

As Kevin dealt the second hand, someone turned on music. I immediately recognized the opening melody of the melancholic tune and I closed my eyes in anticipation of the wrenching lyrics.

 

 _Have yourself a merry little Christmas_ __  
_Let your heart be light_   
From now on your troubles will be out of sight  


They snagged on the shards in my chest and pulled something free, something I’d been trying to keep stuffed down. My eyes immediately pricked with tears. I shot out of my seat without thinking and headed for the stairs, for the reprieve of my bedroom, before the tears revealed themselves in earnest. Before I drowned in them.

 

_I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t--_

 

The words pounded in my head, in time with my frantic ascension up the stairs. They would never stop. It would never stop. I would feel this forever, this _emptiness_ \--

 

I covered my mouth, muffling the sob that tore through my constricted throat.

 

I was alone. He’d left me, chosen it. He threw me away, didn’t care, had lied about everything--

 

_Never loved me._

 

The unbidden image of him sitting across from me, his eyes blown wide in desperation and fear filled my mind as I entered the solace of my room and closed the door behind me. I clenched my eyelids shut and shook my head roughly. _Get out get out get out get out--_

 

Another sob came from my mouth, this one straight from the depths of my chest. It hurt as it tore through me, like nails on a raw wound. Like his words had. Like their memory always would.

 

_I don’t think we should be together anymore._

 

I fell into bed and pulled the covers over my head, shaking, feeling, breaking. Remembering.

 

 _I don’t feel the same,_ he’d said. I couldn’t shake the sound of his voice, the exact pauses, hitches and inflections.

 

I careened into the dark pit of recall as I laid in my bed sobbing.

 

I had grasped at him, his hands, his shoulders, repeating over and over again that _he was wrong, we were going through a rough patch_ , that it would all be okay. But he’d retreated back from my reach, flattened himself against the wall to get away from me. Like he’d been scared of me.

 

I’d yelled at him, screamed that he couldn’t make this decision for me, for us. It was impulsive, thoughtless, selfish. He had tried to escape, tried to leave out the door but I’d slammed it in his face and sat against it. He couldn’t leave. If he left, it was over. We were done.

 

He left. Jughead and I weren’t a couple anymore. He wasn’t my boyfriend; he didn’t want to be my future.

 

I didn’t hear the door open or the soft padding of feet across the carpeted floor, but I felt the bed shift with weight as someone laid down beside me. Thin arms pulled my shaking form against them. Polly.

 

She said nothing as she held me, but I could feel the tension in her body as she tried not to cry as well. I knew she wanted to be my rock, but she’d never been good at keeping her emotions in check, especially when it came to my sadness.

 

She held me as my cries quieted and the memories temporarily withdrew, leaving my mind blank.

 

“I love you, Betty. We all love you. You’re not alone,” she whispered, tightening her arms. I felt her forehead resting against my hair.

 

I didn’t say anything, my throat too raw. I just nodded. I knew she was right; I was far from alone, surrounded by my family and friends who would support me at every turn. But it would take a while for that knowledge to transfer from my head to my broken heart.

 

Right now, I only felt his absence and the enormous loss threw everything else into pitch black.

 

\--

 

I was an idiot. A complete dummy. A sad, desperate, pathetic, lovesick girl.

 

I texted him.

 

He said he didn’t want to be contacted, at least not for a while. He needed the space to think about our relationship, or lack thereof.

 

But I could feel the distance between us and it made me sick. The huge, gaping crater that was physically between us was manifesting itself in my stomach, taking up hollow, empty space, ruining my appetite, even making it hard to breathe. So, I texted him.

 

 **Betty** : Hi, I miss you. I hope you’re having a good holiday.

 **Betty** : Can we talk?

 **Betty** : I know you wanted space but this really hurts.

 **Betty** : I don’t want to be apart from you.

 

I wanted to slap myself for the last message I sent. I didn’t want to be apart from him, but he certainly wanted to be apart from me. That was evident from the whole…breaking up thing he’d said.

 

_I don’t want to be with you._

 

An entire week had passed since I’d heard his voice, but I could remember, with visceral detail, what those words sounded like coming from his lips. It pained me every time I thought of it.

 

The good memories were torture, too.

 

\--

 

_We hung out at the dock to get away. From school, from a set of parents--his or mine--from life. It was quiet, serene, often breathtaking. He liked to bring his camera to take pictures of the sky, and I brought my phone to take pictures of him._

 

_A family sat thirty or so feet down from us, relaxing on the bank of the lake. Their dog bounded into the water, swam out a little bit, and then returned to them. It did this several times, each time having the nerve to go farther. It always came back though, and they didn’t have to call it._

 

_Until a duck broke away from its group and approached the dog. A pattern of cat and mouse began. The duck got the dog’s attention, the dog chased until it was too far out of reach, and then turned back towards the shore. Then, the duck reapproached, taunting him. Over and over._

 

_“Who’re you cheering for?” He said, next to my ear. His breath tickled my cheek, blew wisps of my hair._

 

_“The duck,” I answered. “He just wants to be close to him, I think.”_

 

_“I’m cheering for the dog,” he said as he wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer. “He’s just living his life and the duck won’t leave him alone.”_

 

_We watched for a while, amused. Both animals were so persistent in their tasks. But eventually, the owners called the dog back, and perceptive to its master’s needs, it obeyed._

 

_Jughead laughed as the duck swam back to its family, dejected. Fun over._

 

_\--_

 

He didn’t text me back.

 

\--

 

I relied now on the medication I had started a few months ago, back when the panic attacks were at their worst. Now though, they were horrible, debilitating. I never foresaw that I would need the medication more than I had when I started it.

 

I started it because of him. He hadn’t forced it down my throat, but he’d suggested it. I had been feeling the waves of depression, the lick of anxiety for months. Sometimes it would sit heavy on my shoulders, weigh me down until I could no longer keep my head above water, or sometimes it would float like a cloud above my head. Sometimes, it would claw at me from the insides. Whatever form my mental illness took, it hurt. It hurt me, and it hurt him. I was fading, running out of energy, running out of fight, and he was feeling exceptionally useless.

 

So, we made the trek to my doctor who’d listened carefully as I described how I felt, and then rapturously when Jughead described how I acted. Dr. Malin seemed to take his illustration more seriously--his recounting of the time I tore apart my room in a fit of panic brought out her prescription pad immediately. She wrote me permission for thirty tiny white pills, 20mg of escitalopram each, with three refills and a booklet full of side-effects.  

 

For two weeks, I felt like I was having an out of body experience. My limbs didn’t feel like my own, my head felt like it was wrapped in cotton, and my stomach threatened constantly to lose its contents. I couldn’t focus, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t speak to people. I was a zombie--pale-faced, clammy, and in a perpetual bad mood.

 

It took a long time to get back to myself, but I don’t know if I ever really did. I constantly wondered if I was the same person I was before I started taking the medication, or if the Betty I was now was just another side-effect. I was not happy, not content, not at peace. I was none of the things my doctor assured me the drugs would make me be, wasn’t what Jughead had hoped I would be. Maybe he’d encouraged medication because he couldn’t deal with sick Betty, and then when it didn’t work, he cut his losses. It was the only thing that made sense. When the Betty he fell in love with disappeared, so did he.

 

Except, I didn’t choose this and it wasn’t my fault. I wanted to scream at him.

 

_You told me you’d be with me through thick and thin._

 

_You said we’d get through it and then be stronger than ever._

 

_You told me this was a bump in the road on the way to our future._

 

Liar liar liar liar liar.

 

He’d finally called my doctor the day he found me bleeding in the tub, razor clutched between white fists. It is ironic, that after all our bumps in the road, I still found myself in the same place.

 

Surrounded by porcelain, dripping blood.

 

\--

 

Veronica dragged me out of the house into the bitter cold, raving of much-needed girl time and Boxing Day deals. As we rode in her car to the mall, I couldn’t help but be a little sour that she wanted to go shopping. I was sure she had received luxurious gifts and trinkets from her parents the day before, but somehow she was still unsatisfied. At the same time, I knew she was partly doing this so I could treat and distract myself, and I immediately felt guilty.

 

She was only trying to help.

 

“What stores do you want to hit, B?” She stopped chattering long enough to ask me as we stepped through the doors of Riverdale Shopping Centre.  

 

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe the bookstore?” It was the only place I could imagine would distract me in my current state of mind. I hardly ever failed to lose myself in the shelves upon shelves of paper and binding.

 

She snorted but smiled gently. “Sure, we’ll go there. I also want to go to _Guess, Aritzia,_ and _Pandora._ My dad gave me this charm yesterday and it just _really_ isn’t my style _.”_ She rolled her eyes as she showed me the charm hanging off her wrist. I saw nothing wrong with the pretty purple gemstone.

 

“What else did your parents give you?” I asked, just trying to keep her talking so I wouldn’t have to.

 

Veronica was going on about a scarf made of the softest cashmere she’d _ever_ felt when I noticed them. A small crowd of leather standing outside the tattoo studio. I stopped in my tracks and everything slowed; my heart was pounding in my fragile chest. I wasn’t ready.

 

I wasn’t ready to see him again.

 

But my eyes locked on the familiar Basquiat-wearing serpent etched across the back of a figure I would recognize anywhere and I couldn’t tear them away, even when he turned. Even when I was looking right into his blue eyes. Even when they froze over and darkened like the currents of Sweetwater, even when his jaw clenched.

 

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until he finally broke my gaze, releasing me. I gasped and a familiar sharp pain burned through my chest and abdomen. I grasped my middle in agony.

 

“B?” I heard Veronica’s muffled voice, “Are you okay?”

 

I turned away; I couldn’t look at the serpent any longer, couldn’t look at him. I escaped into the store closest to me, not caring if Veronica followed.

 

The click of her heels followed me. “Betty, what’s wrong?”

 

“He’s here,” I whispered between pants. Even that hurt. I felt like I was breaking, like an elephant was sitting on my chest and crushing me.

 

I caught a knowing look wash over Veronica’s face before she pulled me into a hug. “Oh, B,” she soothed, “I’m sorry. What can I do, honey?”

 

I just shook my head against her shoulder. “Noth _ing_.”

 

She smoothed her hand against my hair. “Tell me how you’re feeling.”

 

“I-I can’t… I don’t-”

 

“Sssh. Slow down.” She pulled back to look at my face and wiped her gloved fingers across my cheeks. I hadn’t noticed I was crying. “Tell me what you feel.”

 

“Empty, broken, lonely,” I whispered, cringing, “It hurts, V, I don’t want to see him, it’s not him. It’s not my _Jughead_.” My voice came out in a whine and my breath caught in my throat again. He wasn’t. He looked the same, maybe more brooding, angry, but he wasn’t who I remembered, who I knew.

 

He wasn’t the soft man who’d kissed me for the first time on his ratty couch, who was excited when my mother invited him over for dinner, who’d gently sang to me as I had my first panic attack. He wasn’t the same man who’d been the one and only to see me undressed, to share a bed with me, touch me. He wasn’t my Jughead, the one who’d plopped his loved and worn beanie down on my head when I needed the sort of protection it gave him.

 

That person was gone. Or maybe he’d fabricated him and he never really existed.

 

Another shudder wracked my frame as Veronica nodded and pulled me back to her. “I know, I know. You’re grieving him, honey, and it’s hard.”

 

“It feels like he died.”

 

She squeezed me tighter. “It’s okay, B. I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.”

 

I let myself--amidst the gaudy half-price Christmas decorations and deal-shoppers--melt into her embrace. I felt her words soak into the cracks of my heart like a healing salve.

 

I wasn’t whole, and I knew I wouldn’t be for a long, long time. I also wasn’t used to people sticking around when they told me they would. But I felt the steadiness, the authenticity of her promise as Veronica held me tightly in her strong but tiny arms, right in the middle of her usual haven.

 

She was willing to be mine for a while.

 

\--

 

I remember when he’d joined the Serpents because it was around the same time we started dating. At the time, I was happy for him because he was really excited about it. He assured me it wasn’t dangerous, more like a ‘ragtag crew’ than a gang. He spoke of them like a big, supportive family, and he’d never had that, not since his father had dissolved into a puddle of alcoholism and his mother abandoned him and all her other responsibilities.

 

The Serpents welcomed me as well, not as a member, but as Jughead’s girlfriend. They were nice enough to me, but I never felt completely comfortable in their presence. Jughead and I sometimes hung out at the White Wyrm with his new friends, Sweet Pea, Fangs and Toni, and I tried my best to integrate into their crew, but it seemed like they were holding out on me, like they didn’t really want me to belong.

 

Toni was the biggest conundrum. She was never outright rude to me, but always somewhat cold. And she didn’t act that way with anyone else. With the rest of the group, she was spunky, goofy, wildly outspoken. She teased Sweet Pea relentlessly, with nothing but a friendly sparkle in her eye. But toward Jughead, she was sweet, respectful, maybe slightly timid. The girl was a chameleon, both when it came to her hair colour and her personality.

 

Despite Toni’s concerning shifty demeanor and possible ulterior motives, there were no issues between Jughead and me regarding the Serpents. Until half a year in, when he was asked to chain himself to a building in an act of protest on the same weekend we’d planned to visit the Lodge’s cabin with Archie and Veronica.

 

_“Jug, we made these plans weeks ago,” I told him, hands propped on my waist, dinner abandoned. “I was really looking forward to getting away for a bit.”_

 

_He dipped his head as he twirled a piece of spaghetti around his fork. “This is important, baby.” He spoke to his plate, unable to meet my eyes._

 

_I raised my brows at him even though he wasn’t looking at me. “More important than your best friends, more important than me?”_

 

_I knew it was a low blow to compare the two sides of his life, his two groups of friends. But I had begun to feel the shift in his priorities and it scared me. Sometimes, when he went off with the Serpents, it felt more significant than a simple ‘see you later’. I didn’t want him to slip through my fingers, our relationship too precious to me to lose._

 

_He grimaced and looked up, his sapphire eyes dark and desolate. “No, baby. Of course not.”_

 

_Feeling like I’d pushed too far, I hopped off my stool to stand between his legs. He pushed his plate away and wrapped his lean arms around me, resting his forehead on my shoulder. I felt his breath on my collarbone as he sighed._

 

_“I’m sorry,” I whispered as I dipped my head to kiss his dark hair. “I don’t mean to make you choose.”_

 

_He pressed his lips lightly to my skin once, and then lifted his head, shaking it. A curl dropped to his forehead. “You’re not, baby. And even if you were, I would choose you.” He smiled weakly and leaned forward to graze his mouth against my jaw. “Every. Single. Time.” He punctuated his words with kisses to my cheek, my nose, my eyes. “You’re more important than the Serpents. If I lost them, I could deal, but if I lost you, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”_

 

_“Are you sure?” I asked._

 

_“100% sure.”_

 

_My chest swelled and I hummed and captured his mouth with mine._

 

_“Thank you, Juggie,” I whispered against his lips when we finally parted to catch our breath._

 

_He grinned. “Don’t thank me, baby. It’s my job.”_

 

\--

 

 **Jughead** : I’m sorry I didn’t come to say hi to you the other day at the mall. I wasn’t prepared to talk.

 **Jughead** : I’m also sorry if I ruined your Christmas. It wasn’t my intention.

 **Jughead** : I hope we can be friends at some point. It would be a shame to lose our connection.

 **Jughead** : Happy New Year, Betty.

 

\--

 

2019 came in with a half-hearted sigh. As the rest of my friends were gathered around the television in the living room watching the ball drop and the couples kiss onscreen, I sipped a glass of punch by myself in the dining room. The spiked juice burned as it slid down my throat, but somehow it still didn’t have quite enough alcohol in it.

 

I was trying my best to let loose, to be the girl I was before the anxiety, before the depression, before the pills that I incidentally wasn’t supposed to drink with but couldn’t bring myself to care about. I tried to laugh, really have fun with the friends that surrounded me. I tried to be excited for the new year that was finally upon us. But it didn’t matter how hard I tried, I just felt like a fraud.

  
The truth was, I found nothing funny. Not even Kevin’s one-liners or Cheryl’s incessant dragging of everyone. I was not excited about the new year. In fact, I lived in constant fear and dread of it. Once, I thought I knew what the months, the years ahead would look like but those plans had been rudely and painfully uprooted. I was hesitant to make new ones, to hope on something else that wouldn’t come true.

 

I held the chilled glass in my hands, and it stung against the newest raw scars on my palms. I hadn’t told anyone about my habit. I never spoke of or acknowledged the tiny puncture wounds, or the longer gashes on my forearms and upper thighs. To me, the only indication of their existence was when I forgot about them and brushed against something roughly, or when I moved too fast and the cuts on my legs reopened. But it was in those moments of the familiar pain that I felt most in control. I chose to inflict those wounds on myself, to rid myself of the poison I felt inside me, or to direct my attention to a real pain, different from what I usually felt. At least this I could put a name to, or a stop to.

 

I pulled up my sleeve to examine the most painful of the gashes, the one I’d maybe pressed a little too hard on. My lips twitched as I ran my finger over the protruding marks.

 

_I think I can stop. When I want to._

 

Archie bounded into the room as I pulled my sleeve back down. He smiled brightly at me as he helped himself to another glass of punch, his in a red plastic cup.

 

“Ronnie was right, Betty. This strawberry shit is way better than beer,” he winked at me and I chuckled lightly at my goofy friend.

 

“More dangerous, too,” I retorted. “How many have you had?”

 

He grinned another toothy smile and shrugged. “3? 4? 8? I have no idea.” He took another gulp from his cup as he rounded the drink table, planted a peck on my cheek, and disappeared to the other room.

 

I laid my hand gently on the spot he’d kissed me, feeling uneasy. As platonic as Archie meant it, and I knew he did, it still somehow felt wrong. I scrubbed at the spot with my fingertips until the skin felt raw, but I could still feel it - the sensation of lips ghosting across my cheek.

 

But not Archie’s. They were Jughead’s _,_ and the memory was far more vivid and real than Archie’s casual show of affection. It was far less comforting, and the unbidden images swept into the forefront of mind.

 

Me, standing at the door as he put on his shoes. Him, placing his hand around the back of my neck and pulling me forward, toward him. Pressing his lips firmly to the hollow of my cheek. Leaving.

 

_Fuck._

 

My friends cheered in the next room as tears leaked from my eyes.

 

\--

 

Everything turned sour after they labelled me. I’d seen it on his phone, a text from Toni.

 

_Are you going to hang out with us tonight, or is your controlling gf still pulling the strings?_

 

I had thought we were friends, or tolerant peers at the very least. But I guess Serpents held their feelings close to their chests and were teaching my boyfriend to do the same.

 

He dropped me off at my house that night, without so much as a kiss goodbye as I hopped off his motorcycle. He’d waved at me solemnly as he rode away and my stomach sank.

 

I felt the shift like physical plates moving under me. From that night on, it felt like he was always holding something back, like he always had something else on the tip of his tongue but couldn’t bring himself to spit it out. His face was no longer an open book, his expression no longer easy to decipher. When he smiled, the grin never reached his eyes, never held that beautiful glint I was so used to. When he touched or kissed me, he wouldn’t linger. When I spoke of the future, he would go silent.

 

I noticed all of these immediately, because it seemed like someone had stolen my Jughead and given him back to me brainwashed. But I didn’t know how to fix it. Everything I tried seemed to push him further into himself, or further into the Serpents. Whenever I wanted to talk about the distance I felt between us, he would try and make me feel like I was imagining things.

 

But I wasn’t. I could feel it. A dark cloud followed me everywhere, and dread constantly weighed me down. My gut knew something that I tried not to let my mind believe--there was an impending goodbye. Our time was limited.

 

However, for short moments, we were still happy, carefree and in love with each other. Like on Halloween, when we hid ourselves away from trick-or-treaters. Not wanting to be bothered while we ate copious amounts of snacks and candy, we turned off every light in and outside of my house, shut the blinds and locked the door. We spent that night in front of the television watching our favourite crime documentaries, curled up in a blanket and each other.

 

But the moment was fleeting.

 

\--

 

_He sat across from me in the vinyl red booth, preoccupied with devouring his burger and fries. My own food sat untouched and growing cold in front of me, even the strawberry milkshake forgotten. I couldn’t stomach what I had ordered._

 

_Jughead didn’t acknowledge me or my lack of appetite. He just ate silently, every so often looking out the window or over my shoulder._

 

_“What’s wrong?” I asked him, thoroughly annoyed with the silent minutes that had ticked by._

 

_He frowned at me and shoved the last bit of his burger into his mouth. “Nothing,” he said with his mouth full._

 

_I grimaced. He usually had more manners. “Why are you so quiet?”_

 

_He swallowed. “I’m eating, Betty.”_

 

_“You’re never this quiet.”_

 

_He just shrugged and picked up a few more fries._

 

_“Are you mad at me?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. I needed to know the answer, but at the same time, I was terrified to hear it._

 

_He paused, but then shook his head. “No.”_

 

_“Then what is wrong with you, Jughead?” I gasped, slamming my hands down on the table. The force rattled the unused silverware and sent a few of my cold fries flying._

 

_His eyes widened at my sudden outburst and his hand shot out to grab mine. “Betty, calm down.”_

 

_I glared at him and yanked my hand back. “Don’t tell me to calm down, just tell me what’s wrong.” I couldn’t feel my fear anymore. The weeks of despondent Jughead had sent me over the edge. “You’ve been acting weird for weeks, you think I haven’t noticed? Something is going on under that beanie of yours, and you’re going to tell me. Right now.”_

 

_He dipped his head and stared down at his now empty plate. “I can’t talk about this right now, Betty.”_

 

_“Why not?”_

 

_His eyes darted up to my face for a second before he covered his own with his hands. I watched as he raked them over his eyes and held them there in frustration._

 

_“Because,” he spat suddenly, removing his hands and placing them fisted on the table, “I don’t want to. I don’t want to talk to you. I’m tired of this. I just can’t do it anymore.”_

 

_I froze at his words, my whole body went still as he continued to speak._

 

_“Just… I need some space. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m trying to get my shit together and plan my future and right now I just don’t see that you’re part of it.”_

 

_I blinked at him, my chest in my throat. “What?”_

 

_“I don’t know. I…” he groaned and put his head in his hands again._

 

_In that moment, even though I had known somewhere inside me that this was coming, it suddenly didn’t feel real. Tears formed in my eyes and I didn’t even try to blink them back. “Why would you say that, Juggie?”_

 

_He shook his head in his hands. “I don’t know, Betts-”_

 

_“Are you trying to hurt me? Do you mean it?” I clenched my teeth to soften the sob that came from my chest._

 

_I watched his shoulders shake, but when he finally lifted his head, his eyes were dry. They were also hardened, crazed. He tried to reach across the table to me but I leaned away from him. Instead, he slid out of the booth to join me on my side of the table. Despite my feeble struggle, he gathered me in his arms, tucking my head under his chin._

 

_I continued to cry, still hearing his words loud in my head, like he was still saying them straight into my ear. I just don’t see that you’re part of it._

 

_“We’ll be okay, baby. We’ll work it out, I promise,” he told me, rocking me side to side._

 

_I reached up to grab the lapel of his jacket, pulling him closer._

 

_“I’m not leaving you, Betty, I swear. I love you so much.”_

 

\--

 

It didn’t matter whether or not I was ready, the holidays ended as fast as they had begun. Before I knew it, I was going to bed the night before the beginning of the winter term, nervous for my last four months of high school. I was nervous for a few reasons: my grades had slipped the last term, jeopardizing my college applications; I had thoroughly neglected the Blue and Gold, missing several print deadlines, and I was not excited about seeing a particular broody, beanie-wearing Serpent roaming the halls. All of these things combined created a lump in my stomach the size of a generous amount of coal, and deeper crescents on my palms.

 

I had spent months fading and wallowing, before and after the breakup, and now it was time to get my shit together. It was time for Betty Cooper to make her grand reappearance.

 

After popping an extra _boost_ , gulping a mug of orange juice, and choking down a plate of eggs, I left my house with a forced and deliberate skip in my step to meet Archie at the corner.

 

Archie was a sunbeam, always a bright light in my otherwise dreary existence. He grinned cheekily as I walked towards him, immediately holding out an arm, an offer to shoulder my backpack.

 

“It’s okay, Arch, I’ve got it,” I laughed at the redhead as he shrugged and began walking down the sidewalk.

 

“Are you ready for the first day back?”

 

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I think,” I answered, frowning a little at his question. _Of course, I wasn’t ready._

 

He looked up to catch my expression and his softened, like he could read my thoughts on my face. “Have you talked to him?”

 

I closed my eyes briefly and shook my head. “Not really. I...uh...couldn’t.”

 

I felt Archie’s mittened hand rub my shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve talked to him. He said he’s prepared to just...pretend like everything is normal. Like you’re friends.”

 

I sighed, the lump in my stomach returned. “I’m not sure that’s what I want, Arch.”

 

“What else can you do? Avoid him?”

 

I bit my lip and looked at my feet, suddenly preoccupied with making sure I didn’t slip on the icy sidewalk. I didn’t want to answer his question. Truth was, I had no idea how to handle Jughead’s presence at school. We shared the same group of friends, worked together on the school newspaper, and our schedules were symmetrical. I would be seeing him around a _lot,_ and I didn’t know how I was going to act.

 

How was I supposed to be around my once best friend, now turned stranger?

 

“Betty?”

 

“I don’t know, Archie,” I snapped. “I didn’t exactly have a plan for this. I’ve been slightly distracted by being miserable, I wasn’t thinking about how I would rekindle a friendship with my ex-fucking-boyfriend.”

 

His face fell and I immediately regretted the impulsive and angry words that had spilled out of my mouth. Archie always looked like a puppy dog being admonished when he was sad. I shook my head and grasped his arm, pulling him to a stop on the sidewalk.

 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m not feeling like myself yet and I know that’s not an excuse. I shouldn’t be taking my frustrations out on you when you’re only trying to help,” I told him, suddenly fighting emotion. I shook my head roughly at myself. _Why couldn’t I pull it together?_

 

He nodded solemnly. “It’s okay, Betty. I get it. I’m sorry for pushing you.”

 

“You didn’t,” I assured him as I resumed walking, “You’re right. I can’t avoid him, but I just...don’t want to pretend like everything is the same, because it’s not.”

 

He let me wrap my arm through his as we made our way to the school.

 

I forced myself to explain it to him. “I can’t fake it. I can’t pretend like we never happened. It would break my heart to try and erase that history.”

 

Archie looked down at me, his brown eyes warm and comforting. “And you’ve had enough heartbreak for a while, yeah?”

 

I nodded, remembering. I had pulled myself out of my hole, over time and with the help of my family and friends. I didn’t want to go back, experience that bleak darkness again when things were _just_ starting to get better. Those weeks had been my personal hell, and though I wasn’t clear of the flames quite yet, I felt steadier than I had in weeks.

 

“Enough to last a lifetime.”

 

\--

 

The yellow embroidered eyes of the Serpent followed me as I entered the Blue and Gold office and set my things down on my desk marked ‘Editor’. I tried to ignore the pounding in my chest and the dryness in my mouth as I sat down in my chair and pulled out my computer, instead willing myself to get through the task at hand. I had an article to finish, and a layout to finalize before publication on Thursday, and this issue had to be top-notch to make up for what I had missed before the holiday.

 

In my peripheral, I saw him turn in his chair to see who had entered the room, and I saw his body go still as he noticed me. He glanced back at his computer screen, then back at me, seemingly warring with himself on whether he should acknowledge my presence.

 

“Hey,” his voice called out across the room.

 

I could’ve sworn the temperature rose ten degrees in that second. I could feel heat in my cheeks, on my neck, as I looked up to meet his gaze.

 

His steel blue eyes were soft, gentle, much like my old Jughead. I couldn’t help but smile.

 

“Hey, Juggie,” the old nickname slipped out of my mouth without permission and I bit my lip sheepishly.

 

He didn’t seem to notice or care. “How’ve you been?”

 

“I’m okay.”

 

He nodded, and to my surprise, shrugged out of his leather jacket and stood up from his seat. He crossed the room to sit on the edge of a desk closer to me. We were the closest we’d been in weeks, and his familiar smell touched my nose--a combination of his detergent, cigarette smoke and an inexplicable essence that was just... _him._ I wanted to hop over my desk and wrap myself in it, lean into his comfortable embrace like I always had before, but instead I stayed seated, simultaneously cursing and praising the five feet between us.

 

I turned back to my computer screen, unsure of what to say to him, but I could feel the heat of his stare. After a few moments, he cleared his throat and my eyes flicked back up to meet his.

 

He stared at me as a dozen emotions flitted across his face. I recognized uncertainty--that one I had become familiar with--and shyness, but apparently the time apart had dulled my senses to him. I realized then, in that moment, that it had only taken me weeks to become estranged with this person in front of me. This person who had once been my safe place, my companion. The love of my life.

 

Relegated to just some boy I went to school with.

 

The knowledge hit me like a punch in the gut. I clenched my fists without thinking, though they laid on top of the desk where he could plainly see.

 

His stare locked on my closed fists and his eyes widened.

 

“Betty, don’t--”

 

He started forward at the same time I pulled my hands back and underneath the desk. I didn’t want him to touch me, I didn’t want him to pretend to care. If he did, I feared I would slip. Back into that hole I _just_ climbed out of, or back to believing he wanted me.

 

But he didn’t and I wouldn’t entertain the idea.

 

His palms landed with a smack on the edge of my desk and I flinched at the sound of it. I felt my nails break through the raw skin of my palms, but I couldn’t feel the pain. I couldn’t feel anything.

 

I forced myself to look up at him and he looked terrified, sick.

 

“Please,” he whispered, and I had to close my eyes. I could feel the emotion, the grief, the pain, everything I had felt for the last few weeks boiling up inside of me and I knew I couldn’t stifle it. I turned my head as the moisture leaked from my closed eyes. I didn’t want him to see me cry.

 

I heard him move and then he was beside me, rolling my chair toward him. I opened my eyes to see him pry my fingers from palms, replacing them with his hands. He gripped them tightly as he crouched in front of me.

 

“Not because of me, Betty, please.”

 

“Why?” I finally gasped. “Because it’ll make you feel guilty?”

 

He shook his head quickly and looked down at our intertwined fingers. “No, because you need to focus on yourself and get better. You can’t do that if you’re still thinking about me.”

 

I let out a watery scoff. “Yet, here you are.”

 

He gritted his teeth. “I won’t let you hurt yourself.”

 

“You can’t do that, Jughead! You’re not around anymore!” I yelled at him, squeezing his hands as hard as I could manage. “You made it that way, you chose that when you fucking _broke up with me_.”

 

“I did that for you! So you could get better without depending on me!”

 

“Shut up,” I growled at him, “Don’t lie to me. I know when you’re lying. You cut your losses. You left me so you didn’t have to deal with me anymore.”

 

“That’s not true--”

 

“You tried to fix me and you couldn’t so you gave up, whatever we had together be damned.”

 

“No, I couldn’t fix you because I did this to you!”

 

I pushed away, ripping my hands from his grip, leaving a stain of crimson blood smeared across his palms, fingers, wrists. He glanced down at his hands briefly before looking back up at me, eyes filling with tears.

 

“You’re like this because of me. Not...this,” he said, gesturing to me, “But everything. Sick. Unhappy. Depressed. I did this. I’m not for you, Betty. I can’t be enough for you. You deserve so much more, someone so much better, more attentive, more sensitive.” Tears streamed down his cheeks, dripped off his sharp jaw. “I realized when I started with the Serpents that I couldn’t be what you needed. And then I selfishly let you fade into this... shell of a person that you were and then when I realized I had literally extinguished your spark, your zeal, I couldn’t do it anymore.”

 

He shook his head and pulled off his beanie, dropping it to the floor to rake his hands through his ebony hair.

 

“Betty, it killed me to let you go, knowing what it would probably do to you. But I knew you would be okay eventually, that your mom and your sister, Veronica, Kev, Archie would put you back together. You would go back to being that bright, intelligent, ambitious, strong person you were before me, and you would forget this ever happened.”

 

He stood and stepped closer to me, reaching out for my hands again and pulling me to my feet.

 

“I don’t want you to forget me, Betty. That idea hurts but it’s what’s best for you. And I need you to, to get better, or else I’ll never forgive myself for this.”

 

“You shouldn’t forgive yourself,” I shook my head, scowling at him. “You made this decision without me. We were supposed to be partners and you couldn’t even let me in and trust me enough with your feelings to work it out together.”

 

“How was I supposed to convince you to let go of me?”

 

“Stop trying to be a hero, Jughead. You’re nothing but a coward. You were too scared to deal with my mental problems. Well, try fucking _having them.”_

 

I tore my hands from his again and gathered my things, unconcerned about the blood still leaking from my hands. I needed to leave that room before I gave in to his pleas, before I threw myself in his arms and forgave him. No, I could see past his bullshit and I was stronger than that, and mad. If grief was a five-stage process, I was entering acceptance while also circling back to anger.

 

“Please seek help, Betty,” he finally spoke again, breaking the tense silence.

 

I shoved my computer back into my bag and swung it onto my back, looking up at him for the last time. “Don’t tell me what to do, Jughead. You forfeited that right weeks ago.”

 

I caught one last glimpse of him as I slammed the heavy door, swiping his flanneled arm across his face before it crumpled again. It seemed the pain of what he’d done had caught up to him.

 

_Good._

_._

_._

_._

 


	2. Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile, friends! I meant to get this part out at the beginning of spring but my brain just didn't allow it. But thanks for coming back! 
> 
> I want to thank Em (miss-eee) for doing a very quick beta of this chapter. You're the best. xx
> 
> Don't forget - TW: severe anxiety and depression, mentions of self-harm, references to suicidal ideations.

* * *

* * *

 

 

**Jughead**

 

When I met Betty Cooper, I never would have guessed that one day I’d be dumping her.

 

It was easy to remember the first time I’d seen her. It was easy because, as dumb and cliche as it sounds, I’d never noticed girls before her. I’d never looked at someone of the female persuasion and cared. Even Archie had thought something was wrong with me.

 

But no, there had been nothing wrong. Just that I hadn’t met her yet.

 

_Holy shit. She’s beautiful._

 

It was our first year of high school, and as Archie’s neighbour, she’d traipsed across the lawn dividing their properties to ask if we wanted to form a study group. Never mind that Archie had never studied in his life, or that I was one of the many grungy, freshly transferred students from Southside High, she just _asked_ like it was the most natural question in the world.

 

I remembered that I’d stammered out a _yes_ , while Archie stared at me slack-jawed.

 

That study group ended up being a catalyst for many things. I got the highest mark I ever had in math class -- a 92 percent -- Betty asked me to join the school newspaper, and I finally got the guts to ask _her_ out for coffee.

 

I didn’t think there was any way she’d say _yes._ I was a poor oddball from the wrong side of the tracks and she was a born and bred Northsider. She was kind and friendly, fiercely ambitious, and way too good for the likes of me.

 

I can still see, in my mind’s eye, the smile that spread across her beautiful face when I’d finally forced the words -- _want to get a coffee at Pop’s --_ out of my mouth. It was… pure Betty. Gleaming. Genuine. Breathtaking.

 

“How about a milkshake?” She’d responded.

 

_She was at the diner already when I arrived, standing in front of the counter, twisting her hands and staring at the menu. I moved to stand beside her and nudged her elbow gently, drawing her lovely green eyes to me._

 

_“What’s your usual?” I asked._

 

_She glanced back at the menu. “Vanilla.”_

 

_I caught Pop’s eye across the counter and smiled at the old man. I lifted two fingers and he nodded. He knew I meant two of the usual. I felt Betty’s hand at my elbow and I turned my attention to her._

 

_“Did you just order for me?” She asked, as her soft fingers wrapped delicately around my arm._

 

_“Yes,” I said, “I hope you don’t mind. Let’s get a booth.”_

 

\--

 

I could not pinpoint the exact time, but I also wasn’t sure there was one. Maybe the demise of our relationship wasn’t like that -- an immediate shift -- but more of a gradual distancing. When she had her first panic attack in front of me, I was scared. I held her as she sobbed and trembled in my arms, and I felt useless. I supported her, encouraged her, spent lots of time with her, and yet I still found, on her arms, evidence of what else she’d been using her razor for.

 

I didn’t know how to make her stop. I didn’t know how to make her smile again.

 

As time passed, I became more involved with the gang. The Serpents were breathing down my neck with more and more jobs, and my girlfriend was often laying incapacitated in her bed. One Saturday morning, I was due to the Whyte Wyrm bright and early and I’d accidentally jostled her awake as I slipped out from underneath her pink paisley duvet.

 

_“Are you leaving?” she asked weakly. Her once bright but now muted emerald eyes met mine._

 

_I nodded and watched as the familiar panic flitted across her face. She seemed to steel herself, clenching her eyes shut and gripping her duvet tightly between her fingers._

 

_As I dressed, I couldn’t help but feel guilty for the tension in her body, now seeping into the air of the room. She’d tucked her chin into her chest, but her new position couldn’t hide the silent tears that leaked from her closed eyes._

 

_The time on my phone read 7:55. I stood by her door, and desperation filled my chest like a weight._

 

_“Betty, please don’t,” I said._

 

_“I’m not,” she choked out against her pillow._

 

_“I can’t leave you like this.”_

 

_“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I can’t help it. I can’t control it.”_

 

_I pulled my beanie onto my head and scrubbed at my face. “I have to go.”_

 

_“I’m not asking you to stay.”_

 

_7:57._

 

_“Betty, are you okay if I leave?”_

 

_She sniffed and then pulled her covers over her head, curling into herself. Her small form shook._

 

_Who would I be if I left her to suffer on her own?_

 

_Who would I be if I stayed?_

 

_8:45._

 

_New message from Toni: Where are you? Keeping Princess company?_

 

_I set my phone back down on the nightstand without replying, and pulled her now still, warm body closer to mine._

 

\--

 

I guess, eventually, it just slipped away. When I looked at her, I no longer felt that giddiness, that excitement, that pure joy I’d felt when we first got together. I didn’t notice the brightness of her eyes, didn’t get lost in their green. She was still beautiful -- obviously, that hadn’t changed -- but I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t see her. All I could see was misery and resentment.

 

I wasn’t helping. I wasn’t enough for her. I was letting my family, the Serpents down, and for what? So I could hold onto a girl that shouldn’t have been mine in the first place? My initial instinct had been right -- I couldn’t possibly make her happy. In fact, I’d made her the opposite of happy, I’d made her anxious and depressed and unlike herself.

 

She should’ve been with someone like Archie. He would’ve had all the time in the world for someone as special as Betty Cooper. He wouldn’t have disappointed her or made her cry. He wouldn’t have slipped out her bedroom window in the middle of the night to make a drug delivery. He wouldn’t be associated with the wrong people, the wrong side of town. He would’ve been attentive to her. He wouldn’t have let her get to the point that I had let her get to.

 

Rock bottom.

 

It was too late for Betty to have Archie, but maybe it wasn’t too late for her to have someone else like him -- someone good. Maybe they would be able to pull her from the hole I’d pushed her into, or maybe she’d climb out herself. _Yeah, maybe_. She was perfect before me, and after me, that’s what she’d return to.

 

\--

 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

 

_Her hands._

 

I held them tightly in mine, so she couldn’t continue to hurt herself. No, she couldn’t do that anymore, not because of me. She didn’t need to, I’d let her go. I’d done the right thing.

 

We stood in the office for the first time since we’d broken up. We’d spent so much of our time together here -- it was probably where we’d fallen in love. But now, within these walls, it was different. Accusations flew from her torn lips. In her anger, she squeezed my hands until her fingers were white, and then she ripped them away. The colour of her pain was left on my palms.

 

My head spun, and everything was hot. I pulled my beanie off and dropped it to the floor.

 

I listened to her as she continued to berate me. She was wrong, her words all twisted, misinformed. Of course, she didn’t know what I’d done for her. She was upset with me. She was sick, she couldn’t see things properly.

 

I tried to explain, and for a second I thought I did it -- convinced her, made her see sense -- because her face softened and her eyes brightened even in their sadness. But then she called me a coward, spat it in my face, gathered her things and slammed the door in my face.

 

_I’m sorry, Betty. Goodbye. Sorry._

 

_What have we done to each other?_

 

\--

 

**Betty**

 

I tried to focus on the familiar feeling of my fingernails piercing my palms to distract myself from what I was about to do.

 

Sitting in my mom’s car, waiting for the sweet, good-looking, smart and eligible football player to appear at the entrance of the bowling alley, my gut screamed at me.

 

It told me that this was wrong, all wrong.

 

I ignored the churning feeling I had become accustomed to. Yeah, maybe I wasn’t ready for this step, but it didn’t matter. It was something I had to push myself to do.

 

Kevin had suggested it a couple of weeks ago, while Veronica, him and I sat at our usual table in the cafeteria for lunch. He’d not-so-delicately brought up the topic of the impending Sadie Hawkins dance, and whether or not I planned to go.

 

_I snorted softly. “Definitely not.”_

 

_His eyes widened in what looked like mock horror but was probably closer to real horror. “Betty, no. You cannot abandon me like this.”_

 

_“Abandon you? You’re saying you want me to be your date?”_

 

_I watched as Veronica shot him a disbelieving, withering look._

 

_He scoffed. “No, no. I’m not giving up this chance to finally get Fangs Fogarty to admit he’s into me. No, I just meant...I can’t go to a dance without you, and I definitely can’t plan this dance without you!”_

 

_I shrugged nonchalantly, picking up my yogurt cup to signify the end of the conversation. I wasn’t going to budge._

 

_“What about Trevor Brown? He’s nice. Ask him.”_

 

_“I’m not going out with Trev,” I said, staring at the cup in my hands. I couldn’t fathom going out with anyone._

 

_“Why not? He’s cute. If he was into guys, I would be all over that.”_

 

_“Kev, I don’t think whether or not you would jump someone should be the deciding factor for Betty when she chooses her dates,” Veronica interjected._

 

_I stared blankly at the tray in front of me, barely listening to them as they continued to discuss my love life._

 

_“Betty is being crazy.”_

 

_“She’s not ready.”_

 

_“She needs to put herself out there.”_

 

_“She doesn’t need to do anything. She’s a strong, independent woman, and she’s taking care of herself right now. That’s her primary focus. Leave her alone, Kev.”_

 

_I blew out a breath before I inserted myself back into their conversation. “No, he’s right.”_

 

_Both quieted, and then I felt Veronica’s small hand on my back. “No, B. You do what you have to do.”_

 

_“Yeah, I know, and I think I need to move on with my life and get back to regularly scheduled programming,” I muttered to my tray. Veronica’s hand rubbed my back. I appreciated her concern, but at the same time, I was tired of being the recipient of it. I was tired of being sad, hurt, stuck._

 

_“Exactly my thought,” Kevin stated triumphantly. “So, Trev?”_

 

I recognized the figure standing at the entrance to the bowling alley, and immediately my stomach did a somersault. I reached into my purse to grab a sleeve of pills, popped one into my scarred palm, and swallowed it with a gulp of water.

 

I tensed and opened my car door. I forced my stiff legs to move forward, toward the boy waiting for me. Waiting for happy, cheery, positive Betty Cooper.

 

As I got closer, I forced a smile onto my face and smoothed my hands against my stomach. It was twisting uncontrollably, and I pressed my palm against it, willing it to calm.

 

Trev looked up from his phone and noticed me coming toward him. His smile was gleaming, contrasted against his dark skin, and probably compared to mine. I forced my lips wider until it almost felt unnatural.

 

“Hi, Betty. I was just about to text you,” he called, waving his phone in his hand.

 

I stepped up onto the curb, to his side. “No need, right here. Ready to get your ass handed to you?” I heard the words come out of my mouth but they didn’t feel like me. I wasn’t even that good at bowling.

 

He didn’t seem to notice though, because his eyes sparkled with amusement as he laughed at my comment. “Yes, definitely. I would be honoured.”

 

I cringed inwardly as he held the door open for me, on my behalf and his. Our banter felt strange, different. Not at all the comfortable back-and-forth I was used to.

 

I swallowed hard as we entered the dark bowling alley, trying to force my mind away from thoughts of him, thoughts of how things used to be. I wouldn’t allow myself to go there, revisit those memories just so that I could compare them with new ones. No, the experiences I had now would stand alone as they were. I wouldn’t bog them down with unrealistic expectations of the would’ve been, could’ve been.

 

_Should have been._

 

I shook my head as I turned toward the shoe rental counter. _Enjoy yourself, idiot. Trev is nice, fun. Even if you don’t connect like that, you can still have a good time._

 

“What size?” The girl behind the counter asked me, between snaps of her bubblegum.

 

“Seven and a half and…”

 

“Nine,” Trev offered.

 

She handed us the ugly slip-on shoes and pointed us toward the benches where we could sit to put them on. I stepped away from the counter, but Trev smiled and thanked her despite her off-putting attitude.

 

I searched my mind to find something to fill the silence as we put on our shoes, but Trev beat me to the punch. Likely more calm than me, with less internal warfare, he was better at the whole small-talk thing.

 

“I haven’t been bowling in like, forever, so you'll have to excuse me for this shameful show I’m about to put on,” he said as he placed his street shoes to the side, standing.

 

I laughed awkwardly in place of responding. I stood at his side and followed him toward the far alley. I tried not to clench my fists but covertly pressed my middle finger against my palm to calm myself. I knew I shouldn’t be doing _that now_ , but I had to do something to relieve the tension in my muscles, the pressure mounting in my stomach.

 

He entered our names into the system, mine first so that I had first throw. I trudged toward the alley and picked up the ball, feeling its weight in my hand. I felt the immediate impulse to drop it on my foot, to hurt myself to get out of this uncomfortable situation I had forced myself into but I grimaced, fighting it.

 

I transferred the bowling ball from my right hand to my left, and back, and stepped forward to the line. I flung my arm as hard as I could, projecting the ball forward. I watched as it travelled quickly down the alley, only to fall into the gutter at the last second, not hitting any pins.

 

“I thought you said you were good at this,” Trev called out from behind me. I felt a chill jolt through my body and a memory flash in my head.

 

_“I thought you said you were good at this,” he said, placing his hands on my hips from behind me. I leaned back into his hard chest, still holding the flat, smooth rock in my hand._

 

_“I swear I am!”_

 

_He leaned down to press his mouth to the sensitive spot under my ear. “Do I need to show you?” he said, a whisper against my skin._

 

_I shivered and felt my eyelids flutter. “No,” I managed to choke out._

 

_He lifted a hand from my hip to snatch the perfect skipping rock from my hand. I tried to hold onto it, but I was distracted by the feeling of his mouth at my neck, and his deft fingers easily pried the rock from mine._

 

_He danced away, satisfied with his trick. He winked at me before flinging his arm toward the expanse of water. I watched as the rock skipped once, twice, eight times before it disappeared into the shimmering water._

 

I blinked as the memory faded. I didn’t respond to the boy behind me, just picked up the second bowling ball to toss down the lane. I managed to throw two gutter balls before sitting down to watch Trev’s turn. I rested my hand on my stomach, which continued to roil and protest inside me.

 

He got a spare, whooping as he turned around to join me. Again, I manufactured a smile to display across my face.

 

I was off my game, and inevitably as we got to the last frame, I was trailing Trev by forty points. I stood to take my last turn, picking the ugliest coloured bowling ball off the stand to use.

 

I heard Trev’s call of good luck before I flung the ball down the lane as hard I could. I watched as it rolled, hitting the first pin with a force. Miraculously, every pin clattered to the floor, and I heard Trev’s answering cheer behind me.

 

I walked backward as I stared at the pins incredulously before the gate closed, swallowing them up. I turned to go back to my seat but came face-to-face with my date. His hands landed heavily on my shoulders, moving down to rest on my arms.

 

“I guess I have some points to make up now,” Trev teased, as he smoothed his hands down my arms. Immediately, at the contact, my body tensed and heat rose to my face.

 

I didn’t want him to touch me.

 

It happened in slow motion, and yet too fast that I couldn’t stop it. I saw him glance at my lips, moisten his, and then he was leaning forward.

 

I leaned back, but it wasn’t far enough. His lips crashed with mine, hard, and I felt the beginning of a silent scream rise in my chest.

 

He had my hands, but after a second I stumbled backward. I stared at my feet instead of him or our joined hands. My mind was buzzing, my lips were numb, and my body was cold. I couldn’t speak; it felt like I had a lump in my throat the size of the ball I’d heaved only moments earlier.

 

“Betty? I’m sorry, was that not okay?”

 

“Um,” I started, and then I shook my head, warring with myself. I didn’t want to tell him the real answer, and yet I felt he was owed an explanation. “I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting that.”

 

“Oh. Well, I could warn you next time?” He laughed softly as he rubbed my thumbs with his, obviously trying to comfort me so I would finally look up at him.

 

“Maybe...um,” I clenched my jaw and squeezed my eyes shut. “Sorry, um, probably not.” I opened my eyes and pulled my hands from his. I looked up to his face to see his confused expression.

 

“Sorry?”

 

“Trev, I shouldn’t have come out with you. You’re really nice, I’m just not...doing this,” I gestured between us frantically, “I mean, I’m not… it’s not you, I just need to… ” I sighed at myself. The words were impossible.

 

“Hey hey, Betty, it’s fine. I… uh, I get it,” he nodded and relief swept through me. “It’s… him, right? That Jughead guy. I’m sorry.”

 

I pressed my fingers harshly into my skin again at the mention of him. “Well… yeah. No. Kind of,” I admitted. I felt the warmth of blood in my palms. _Shit._

 

“We can just go now if that’s what you want.”

 

I nodded and smiled tightly at him as I gathered my sleeves in my palms. I followed him back to the bench where we’d left our shoes, and we changed them in silence. We returned them, paying at the counter, and then left the alley without another word.

 

I was about to walk off to my car when I felt Trev brush my arm again, this time more gently than he’d done before he kissed me.

 

“I’m really sorry, Betty. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he said as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

 

I frowned and nodded. “It’s okay. Not your fault.”

 

He studied my expression for a moment before nodding too. “See you at school.”

 

“Yeah, see ya.”

 

I held my sleeves tight in my hands as I walked back to the car, and it wasn’t until I was in the safety of the driver’s seat that I pulled the material from the gashes.

 

The sight of the deepest crescent marks I’d ever made on myself stared back at me and tears immediately sprang to my eyes.

 

This is what happened when I pushed myself. This is what happened when I didn’t listen to my gut.

 

The saltiness of my tears fell to my hands where they stung the open wounds. I let the pain wash over me, along with the pain of the memory Trev’s kiss had invoked.

 

My first one. With _him_.

 

The one that started out as nothing but an electrified tingling, hovering between our lips, inches away from each other. His arm had been tight around me, holding me against his warm side on his worn plaid couch. It had been the longest moment of my life, waiting for him to close that space between us.

 

He’d blown out slowly as he’d leaned forward, and then it was finally his lips rather than his breath that brushed against me. My body had relaxed in his arms as my mouth fit perfectly to his.

 

It’d been a slow push and pull, a patient exploration, between sighs of relief and gasps of air. It had been everything I’d waited for, everything I’d imagined, everything I had wanted for the rest of my life.

 

I felt my chest splintering. Everything I had worked hard to repair in the last few months broke apart and the dam reopened.

 

_I miss you. I hate you._

 

_You hurt me._

 

\--

 

**Jughead**

 

I never liked eating in the cafeteria, not before, and certainly not now. I preferred to take my lunch, supplement it with a few of the edible sandwiches the kitchen provided, and go to the Blue and Gold office. However, with the discernable tension that still existed between Betty and I and my escalating position with the Serpents, that wasn’t feasible any longer. I avoided her at all costs, which meant avoiding the office, and Toni and Sweet Pea had demanded I actually eat lunch with the gang.

 

There, in the loud and bustling cafeteria, surrounded by the young Serpents and probably twenty feet from _her_ , I wanted nothing more to disappear with my worn Capote novel into a supply closet.

 

I caught a glimpse of her wavy blonde ponytail from across the room. I looked away, back to my tray full of food to stuff half an egg salad sandwich in my mouth.

 

“I don’t know how you can eat that shit,” Toni said, grimacing at the sandwich I held in my hand like it was poisonous.

 

I raised it to her face and she leaned away, plugging her nose.

 

“Don’t knock it till’ you try it,” I said, laughing before filling my mouth with another bite.

 

“Ew. I’d rather die.”

 

“Toni, Jug is going to implement an egg salad sandwich-eating competition as a new initiation task for his first act of Serpent King,” Fangs, sitting next to her, across from me, chimed in, “What do you think about that?”

 

She finally let go of her nose and scoffed. “Don’t care. I’m already in, bozo.”

 

I swallowed and shot her a shit-eating grin. “Maybe I’ll have initiates compete against a Serpent volunteer. Great idea, Fangs.”

 

Toni made a face as Sweet Pea and Fangs erupted in laughter around us. I could see, past Toni, the blonde ponytail whipping through the air, her head turning in our direction.

 

I maintained my grin on my face while I could feel her staring at me. She turned again after a moment and I refocused on the conversation happening around me.

 

“You’re going to be the worst Serpent King of all time,” Toni said, rolling her dark eyes. “Just because your Dad falls off the wagon and you’re a _legacy,_ that’s why they chose you. It’s fucking stupid.”

 

I felt my stomach curl as I looked down at the remaining food on my tray. “I’m not disagreeing with you. I’m not too overjoyed about it myself,” I admitted, slightly under my breath. I raised my head to see three Serpents back staring back at me. I hadn’t planned on admitting my reluctance out loud. 

 

“Um...because now I have to babysit all of you idiots,” I stammered, backtracking.

 

Sweet Pea nodded and clapped my back as Fangs chuckled, satisfied with my answer. I met Toni’s eyes from across the table and I could tell I hadn’t fooled her. She knew how reluctant I was and it was likely part of the reason why she was so upset.

 

Toni was also a legacy and she probably wanted to be the leader -- the Serpent Queen. But because of some archaic rule, a male candidate trumped a female one, making me the de facto leader in my father’s absence.

 

Toni pushed her tray away and stood up, a strange expression masking her face. “I’ll see you guys in fourth period.”

 

I watched as she walked away, past the table where the blonde ponytail that haunted me sat. My eyes fell to her, betraying me. She also noticed Toni’s agitated strut out of the cafeteria, and her thin shoulders stiffened as her body slowly turned in her seat to face me.

 

I couldn’t look away from her gaze as it searched me. Drowning in her familiar green irises, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time - comfort. But the feeling was immediately overwhelmed by another. A lump formed in my throat, a hole in my chest.

 

She knew me best. She knew me better than anyone, understood me more than my own family ever had, and I had just let it go. I tossed her aside in favour of the Serpents, to take responsibility for my family’s legacy, to protect the bright future she’d inevitably have, but I hadn’t fully realized the loss until now.

 

How was I supposed to get through this without her?

 

How was she supposed to get through it with me? _She was so fragile._

 

Her soft brow crinkled like she’d heard my last thought and finally released me, her eyes darting back to her table. My gaze fell back to my tray in front of me, to the food still there, but the last bite of my sandwich both looked and smelled revolting.

 

“Yo, Jug, you alright?” Sweet Pea’s voice sounded far away.

 

I grimaced at my tray and shook my head slowly as I tried to control the queasy feeling in my stomach. Even though I sat still, it felt as though the contents of my stomach was sloshing around, threatening to rise up my throat.

 

“Sorry, I’ll-” I managed to choke before I felt the bile.

 

I clapped my hand over my mouth and shot out of my seat. I tried to ignore the heat of several pairs of eyes on my back as I ran out of the cafeteria.

 

\--

 

I couldn’t ignore the fact that I was the second Jones man to have his head in the trailer’s toilet that day. Yes, the reason I was voiding my body of all fluids was much different than my father’s, and yet it still bothered me that I found myself laying on the floor, in the same position I often found him.

 

I had not consumed a drop of alcohol and I had not eaten the spoiled food from the fridge, I was just sick. And sad. And consumed with an all-encompassing guilt that wracked my body both literally and figuratively.

 

I wanted to call her. My desire to pick up my phone from the bathroom floor, find her name amongst my contacts, and hit _call_ tingled in my fingertips. I had not done it yet only because my hands were numb from hanging onto the porcelain. Even though I knew it was a terrible idea.

 

I had hurt Betty tremendously. I knew that because I knew her. I had seen her in the worst of times, in the depths of her depression, and I knew how my callous leaving her had thrown her into the thick of it. I knew because I had seen her hands, and I’d had her bright blood streaked across my skin.

 

The memory of it washed through my mind and seemingly right down to my stomach, where it began a new wave of nausea. I let it roll through me as I lifted my head back to the bowl. But there was nothing left in my stomach to empty, so my stomach just contracted violently until I could finally catch my breath.

 

I slumped back down against the panelled wall as the wave passed. Across the tiny bathroom, I caught a look of myself in the narrow mirror. A sheen of sweat covered my brow and the colour had been drained from my face.

 

I needed to call her. If I was feeling this horrible about everything, no doubt she’d be feeling worse. I wasn’t sure what she was capable of doing to herself, and I definitely didn’t want to find out.

 

In a burst of energy from some unknown place, I reached across the small space to grab my phone. I scrolled through my message center to find her name -- Betty, followed by a heart emoji. I’d never gotten rid of it apparently.

 

I tapped on her contact and the green call icon came up. My thumb hovered over it for a moment, my mind suddenly frozen. _Was I really doing this?_

 

My stomach swirled and I pressed down.

 

_Calling Betty…_

_._

_._

_._


End file.
